


Done Down

by derekstilinski



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Books, Budding Love, Late at Night, M/M, Magical Accidents, Magical Artifacts, Magical Bond, Multi, Music, Romantic Friendship, Skyhold, Spells & Enchantments, female inquisitor - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 04:25:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5443238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derekstilinski/pseuds/derekstilinski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Iron Bull is roaming the halls of Skyhold at night, and hears music. He follows it and gets a little more than he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Done Down

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first time writing for this fandom, with these characters. It was sort of an exploratory piece, something cozy. I love writing Dorian.

A cool night has fallen over Skyhold, and the Iron Bull walks the quiet halls. His armor is gone, no need for it here. He likes to be able to be slow here, inside the ancient walls. His steps are leisurely, with no real mark to head towards. He considers this place home now; the Inquisitor has told them all that they're welcome to stay, that she wants them to stay. With the Chargers safe and comfortable, how could he say no? Krem won't stop talking about the elegant furniture Josephine keeps giving him to fill up his room.

Bull ascends curved stairs and finds himself in the library, one lone lantern hanging up above, where Nightingale's crows rest. A soft glow from Solas' space reaches the library dimly. He considers finding a nice book, maybe settling in with it and a candle on one of the plush Orlaisian chairs. Dorian won't stop rambling about the Boss filling up the shelves. She scouts for precious metals and healing herbs, but always remembers to check for literature, too. She always remembers for Dorian, bless her. He's always excited when she hands him a dirty, dusty book; he then tries to conceal his excitement and huffs about having to clean them, how much of a mess she and they make in his library. But no matter how disgruntled his face seems, he still holds each book with care.

The Bull takes one down from the shelf and brushes off the cover. It's a thinner book, green with golden embroidery. It's relatively new to the collection. He remembers holding the Inquisitor's ankles to pull her after she crawled into a smuggler cave ditch to retrieve it. The title on the front cover has worn away and Bull flits through the pages lazily, catching words like enchantment and power.

He moves to find a candle and suitable place to rest. The soft coos of the crows and the click of his footsteps give way to another sound. A delicate resounding ping, followed by another and another. Music, at this time of night? He leans close to the railing and doesn't see an elf's shadow below, and none above except the crows. It doesn't come from them, so on curiosity he follows it around the circular room and out a stone arch. The arch gives a staircase, and the staircase yields an open room, veiled by a heavy Tiventer curtain. The room is adorned with lush couches and grand paintings. Fabric drapes from the ceiling, pinned fashionably to the wall to create a faux canopy. They're deep shades of red and it warms the room. Shimmering goblets accompany many bottles of wine and more on a row of shelves. A locked cabinet sits against a wall, a desk not too far away. The chair is plush, lined with furs. There's a curtained bed on the far right of the room, but no one in it. A vanity covered in unlit candles sits near a window. The music is getting louder, so he must be close.

He crosses the room to investigate a closed door. Careful of his horn, he settles an ear to the thick wood. It's there, the plucking of strings, but it's not immediate. He pulls on the handle and it creaks open for him, giving him another set of stairs that go up, longer now. He's already come this far, going up higher into the castle is fine with him. He leaves the door gaped and ascends the stairs, moonlight flooding the steps from small windows cut into the walls. Not all of them have glass, so The Bull's skin chills intermittently as he goes. The music is closer now, clearer and smoother now that it's not hindered by distance. It's a beautiful sound, almost a lullaby. He finds himself in front of another door, but this time he knows it's an end. There's a flickering light from under the door, no doubt someone's fireplace. There's a soft scent of vanilla and mint. It feels like a home. He brings up his free hand and raps his knuckles on the door.

The music falters for a moment, but doesn't stop. He hears the creak of a bed, mumbling and the moving of things, before footsteps reach the door. It swings open and Dorian looks up at him, eyes scrunched and tired. His hair is a mess, weaving in all directions; his face is sleep soft, mustache slightly askew. The golden rings pressed into the shell of one ear glint in the light from the fireplace, along with the rings on his middle finger and thumb. He's wearing a white fur robe slung around him, shoulder slipping to one side to show warm skin. His hand is clasped in the fur to hold it closed, hastily pulled on to answer the door.

"Yes?" Dorian is leaning against the door with his arm, looking disgruntled but sounding sleepy.

The Bull is a tad bit surprised. And he doesn't think Dorian has much in the way of clothing under that robe, "I didn't know you were up here."

"Well, here I am," he replies, bowing forward just so before rocking back, "Is there a reason you've shown up here, or am I just having a dream that I answered the door at this hour?"

"I heard music..." Bull looks past Dorian now, into the room where a rounded guitar is floating leisurely, strings giving a song all by itself.

"Wha...?" Dorian's brows pull close, and then it's like he registers the music is from him, "Oh." He straightens and turns, padding over to the guitar and shooing it, telling it to hush until it does. It settles into a nearby chair and stills. Dorian comes back to the door, tugging the robe tighter around his body, "Sorry about that. Wasn't aware."

Bull shakes his head, "No, I mean--It wasn't bothering me."

Dorian makes a face, "Then why did you say something?"

Bull purses his lips, "You asked why I was here."

Dorian huffs, rolling his eyes, "Yes, well--"

"I liked it, 'Vint." Bull cuts in, and then it gets very quiet.

Dorian shifts, eyes not meeting Bull's. He smiles softly and finally says, "...Thank you,"

Bull nods, moving his book into his other hand idly. Dorian's eyes flick to the motion, "You've been in the library. What did you choose?"

"Oh. No fucking idea. Chose it at random." He shrugs, and Dorian slips the book from his fingers.

"Oh, dear. That's what you think," Dorian flicks through the book, humming, "It's just asking for it to be used. There's magic embedded in the ink. It called to you, even though you don't have magic... What a whore."

Bull's chest rumbles with a laugh, "You're serious?"

Dorian presses his hand to the page and the words bleed into a golden light from his touch. A glow sweeps up like dust over his hand and the Bull's eye widens, "Fucking hell."

"Mm, this is a healing section," Dorian lifts his hand and the glow covers his palm, while it fades from the text, "Our Inquisitor brings me the most astonishing things. I hadn't been able to actually read this one yet," he doesn't take his eyes off his hand while he turns, "Come in, won't you?"

The Bull follows Dorian into his room, gently pushing the door shut behind him. The mage's bedroom is smaller than he thought. It's a rounded room with a high ceiling, stone walls with thick tapestries hung down them. A grand bed sits with its headboard to the wall, dark wood carved with elegant curves. The bed is a cascade of snow white sheets, blankets with golden trim, plump pillows. It's all slightly mussed from Dorian getting up from bed. A fireplace stands opposite the bed, crackling softly. A wardrobe has staves leaning on it, a few pairs of boots next to those. An old wooden chair with the guitar sits by the fireplace. A lavish rug on the floor dips with plushness as the Bull steps on it.

"This isn't what I expected." He says as he looks around.

"What's wrong with it?" Dorian sounds insulted.

"Nothing. I just thought it'd be something more like..."

"Downstairs?"

"...Yeah."

"Well, that's the other half. But I left it open to people. That Cole lad sometimes comes in and pets a cat. Don't know where he's gotten the cat from." Dorian shrugs.

"And the bed?" Bull asks.

"Our Commander. You know, the one who overworks himself. Cullen comes in and I'll listen to him ramble until he falls into a much needed slumber." Dorian explains, reading the page he touched from the book.

"Ah, I see." Bull feels somehow better that Dorian doesn't entertain in that bed.

"Yes, yes. I'm not that extravagant. I put my eye kohl on one swipe at a time like everyone else." Dorian tells him distractedly.

Bull quirks a smile, "You're not wearing it now."

Dorian seems to realize he's not made up in front of someone and stalls for a moment. Then he hums, "You're correct, I'm not... You were injured when we battled that last dragon, yes? ... Oh yes, here," he lifts his glowing hand and presses it over Bull's flank, where a stubborn gash lies.

The Bull hisses at the pressure, then the intruding feeling pressing at him. Little by little, the glow hovering on Dorian's skin drains, hiding under his palm. The pain is soothed quickly, and when Dorian removes his hand, not even a scar remains. He grins triumphantly, "I am good. I am fantastic. I am absolutely... lightheaded."

Dorian begins to crumble and Bull grabs him by the waist, guiding him to his bed. His robe starts to slip and Bull disregards it to focus on the color coming back to his face, "Dorian? Dorian?"

"Yes, I'm alright," Dorian replies, breathless, "That's an intriguing spell,"

Bull takes the goblet of water from the small table next to the bed and holds it out. Dorian takes it, sipping carefully. He settles his hand on the back of Dorian's neck to keep him stable and Dorian inhales sharply, spitting out some water. His cheeks go red and his expression turns awed. He shivers, taking a deep breath, "Ah... I see."

The Bull leans down to see him better, "What? You see what?"

"The spell. It cures, and then shares the life force between two until it's replenished on its own... You touched me, and I felt you help." Dorian explains, breathing easier now.

Bull nods after a moment, "Well, alright. Let's get you comfortable, yeah?"

He pats Dorian's shoulder and gives him a reassuring look, concerned at his flushed, slightly sweaty cheeks. Bull takes the book and moves Dorian to lay back, fixing his robe gently as he does so. 'Vints care about modesty despite their extravagance. He drops the book at the end of the bed after pulling up the blankets.

"I feel faint," Dorian tells him, rolling onto his side, curling into the pillow, "The bed will hold you, you know."

The Bull looks up at him, hands pausing in tucking in the ends of the blanket, "What?"

"It's not done. Apologies." He mumbles, weakly reaches a hand out.

It takes Bull so long that Dorian grunts at him before his hand loses the strength to stay in the air. Bull shakes out of it and moves to the vacant side of the bed, pulls the blankets back. He crawls in carefully, lays on his back and tries not to move. He offers a hand to Dorian, which is taken.

Bull stares at the ceiling. Dorian's breath is a little labored next to him. Sounds a little wet, like when you're sick. There's movement, a wiggle closer to him. The fire crackles softly across the room. Another wiggle, but it keeps coming. Dorian crawls right up to his side and lays his head on mid-chest. His ringed fingers splay over Bull's stomach, calmly, comfortably. Dorian's forehead feels hot on Bull's skin.

"Dorian," Bull wraps his arms around the mage, sitting up slightly with urgency, "We should go to the infirmary. We should get Solas, the Boss, Minaeve."

Dorian hugs himself to Bull's side as he's jostled, and his fever quickly dissipates. He grunts softly, sleep already coming to him again, "Why?"

Bull checks his forehead and his brows furrow, but he lowers himself back to the pillows, "...Uh, nevermind. Just sleep, Dorian."

Dorian sighs, getting comfortable again. His voice is just a mumble, "Never doin' anything for you ag'an."

Bull chuckles quietly, rubbing Dorian's back, "And I'll never do anything for you, either."

The guitar quietly, almost shyly starts playing again in the chair. Bull smiles to himself and tries to get some rest.

\--

Light streams through the large window-like doors now that the drapes have been pinned out of the way. The Bull blinks sleep out of his eyes, looking over to find himself alone in bed. He’s been covered in expensive blankets, and his boots are a few feet from him in a neat line on the floor. A rustle to his right reveals Dorian coming out from behind a privacy curtain, breeches done up secure and two pairs of plush socks on. His warm, bronze skin is slightly damp and his hair is wet, flopping to the side. Bull has never seen it like this before, has never seen Dorian like this before. He’s usually all very made up. He blushes when he notices Bull’s awake.

“Ah, good morning.” He says, trying to act like his face isn’t reddening.

“Morning,” Bull replies easily, eye flitting down to the blankets where he’s all tucked in, “Was this your doing?”

“I’m not apologizing for doing something nice.” Dorian tells him, opening his wardrobe to look over his options. He could wear his usual, or something dressy. He decides on the piece the Inquisitor made for him, ring velvet and darkened samite. It keeps him warm with long sleeves, and holes for is thumbs to fit through so the sleeves don’t slouch. He must admit, she really cares about his well-being.

“I wasn’t saying you had to.” Bull says, a little regretful as he pulls his body from the warmth of the bed. He sits on the edge and reaches for his boots. He slept pretty well. Dorian, no matter how small, turned into a furnace somehow during the night. Bull was pleasantly surprised by the warmth the little shit gave off.

Dorian looks back at him with a slight smirk, patting the leftover water from his bath off his body with a small towel. He then turns and slips on the samite tunic, adjusting it on his torso. He holds the end of it and his brows knit together, “Are you watching me?”

“Why would I be?” Bull gives, lacing up his boots as he very much watches.

“Because I’m very attractive,” Dorian contemplates  _not_  doing it, but it’s too damn cold for him. He huffs and pushes the ends of his tunic into the breeches, all the way around. Bull makes a noise. Dorian snatches the ring velvet duster from the wardrobe door and slips it on, “Shut  _up_.”

“I didn’t say a word,” Bull points out, trying not to chuckle as he does up the bed. He can hear Dorian huff again as he does up his buckles, “Are you really that cold?”

Dorian grabs a pair of boots and beckons the Bull to follow him, then looks like he’s just heard the question, “Oh. Um... Yes.”

Bull grunts in response and they move down the stairs. In the bigger room, Dorian drops his boots by the vanity and produces a key to the locked cabinet. He inclines his head towards a table as he grabs things out of it, “I had breakfast brought up. Enough for two.”

“Oh? Meeting someone, are you?” Bull asks. Must be his cue to go, alright. He actually enjoyed this time with Dorian, but maybe he was the only one. He moves for the door curtain when Dorian chuckles.

“Oh, very funny,” He says at the vanity, trying to get his hair to stand in its usual way, “Why must you make a joke out of everything I try to do?”

“What?” Bull’s brow wrinkles.

“Sit and start eating. I’ll just be a moment,” He explains, running his ring-less fingers through his hair. In the mirror, he sees Bull sit on a couch and look over the plate of food. He nods to himself and starts in on his eye kohl.

The Bull spreads peach jam on fresh, warm bread and sits back, watching Dorian as he gently moves the stick along his waterline. It’s different, getting to see how Dorian basically becomes the powerhouse that he is. The look, and soon will come the attitude, the confidence. Bull chews thoughtfully, tilting his head to the side. Dorian catches the movement, “Are you watching me?”

“Am I not allowed to?” He asks, curious.

Dorian stutters over the answer for a moment, “Well... No one really watches.”

“I am,” Bull says, taking another bite and chewing, ”You look good without all of it too, by the way,” He shrugs, and a blush finds its way to Dorian’s face, which Dorian looks like he does not want there, “But you look good either way... For a pretty boy ‘Vint with fire in his palms.”

Dorian rolls his eyes, but a smile sneaks its way onto his face. He ducks his head and opens the leather bag with his jewelry in it. He places the five earrings back up the shell of his right ear, just one stud adorned with the tiniest of lyrium crystals on the underside in the other ear, then adjusts his mustache and settles the round nose piercing back into place above it. He slips his rings back onto his fingers and looks himself over in the mirror.

Bull hums, “The metal’s nice.”

Dorian grins and packs his things away, stores them again. A grunt and rustle in the far right of the room makes Bull turn. Dorian walks over to the plate of food and picks up a pear, then moves over to the bed in the corner. He pushes the curtain aside to see a tuft of blond hair poking out from the blankets. He leans down and talks softly, “It’s a new day, Commander,” Cullen groans and rolls over, looking bleary-eyed up at Dorian. Dorian smiles and runs his fingers through those messy locks, “Good morning, Cullen.”

“Dorian.” Cullen rubs his eyes, yawning. Cullen is fond of Dorian, has no reason not to be. He’s a hard worker, like himself. And Dorian is nice to him, listens and lets him sleep here whenever he wants to. He’s much more kind than people think, and Cullen thinks that’s very clever.

“Ah, he can form words,” Dorian grabs Cullen’s fur coated cloak and drapes it over him once he sits up. Cullen looks so tired, but Dorian knows he won’t lay back down. He’s tried to make him before, but the Commander is stubborn. Cullen slips into his boots, yawning again, “Maybe you should...”

“Dorian,” He says, and the mage knows what that means. Cullen will fall asleep at his desk like a proper Commander, not sleep in here, “...Thank you.”

Dorian kisses his head and hands him the pear, then helps him up, “I’ve sent breakfast to your office.”

Cullen smiles gratefully, “You are fantastic.”

“I know, my dear.” Dorian replies, waiting until Cullen is steady on his feet to let him go. Cullen dips his head to Bull in greeting as he goes past.

The Bull looks to Dorian after the Commander has gone, “You care for him.”

Dorian nods, “I’m not ashamed of that. He may be a Templar, who is wary of mages, but he hasn’t treated me like anything but a person.”

It makes a smile tug at Bull’s mouth, and he gestures to the seat opposite him. Dorian quirks a smile and sits, and takes the jam covered bread that’s offered to him. They sit in comfortable semi-silence, eating their breakfast as the rest of the world wakes and talking softly about this and that. Dorian has never really held an ax before; Bull says he’s welcome to try his. They talk about the last dragon they fought together, how they’ll use the parts they got to keep. They talk about the Chargers, and Bull raves about every one of his team finding their place here in Skyhold. Dorian says that sometimes Grim will grunt at him every so often when they pass in the halls.

Bull sighs, rubbing his hands on his knees, “I should get back to them. I have sparring with Krem this morning.”

Dorian’s smile slips a little, hands moving slower from where they're lacing up his boots, “Oh. Well, alright.”

They both stand and Dorian wrings his hands, his rings making muted clinks against each other. Bull honestly lingers on each step, then sighs and turns, “I uh, didn’t ask. How are you feeling?”

“What?” Dorian looks at him oddly.

“From last night. How are you feeling?” Bull takes a step closer, “Probably still... A little sick? Still sharing with me?”

Dorian seems a little lost for a moment, then his eyes go round and he starts to smile, but quickly corrects it. He clears his throat and stands up a little straighter, checking his forehead with the back of his hand, “Oh, my... I think--Hm, oh. Yes. Yes, I think I may still be a bit under the weather.”

Bull does everything he can not to smile. Dorian looks bright, as radiant as the sun. He offers his hand out to the mage, “I still have to go to training, but when I go to my chambers to get some new clothes on, we’ll find you a fur to cover up in.”

Dorian takes his hand, weaving their fingers together slowly as a smile spreads out on his lips, “Feeling better already.”

Bull grins and leads Dorian through the curtain, down the steps and out into a new day together.


End file.
